


The Doctor's Payment

by consultingcriminal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caretaker John, Fluff, M/M, Praise Kink, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:25:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingcriminal/pseuds/consultingcriminal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes home early one morning, beaten and bloody, thanks to his latest case' culprit. John, the good doctor who stayed up waiting for him, patches him up, and is rewarded with a rather unorthodox payment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doctor's Payment

_Sherlock, where are you? -JW_

_I'm serious, Sherlock. It's four in the morning. Where the bloody hell are you? -JW_

_I swear, if you've gotten yourself killed, I'm going to resuscitate you and kill you all over again. -JW_

_Sherlock, for fucks sake. You could've left a note or something before you went out. -JW_

_Don't even think about telling me that you told me before you went. I was at work all day. -JW_

_Sherlock, I'm bloody worried about you, alright? Hurry up and come home. -JW_

It was four in the morning, and John was still awake and waiting for Sherlock to come home. John had sent him at least fifty text messages over the course of twelve hours, since he got home from work at five the evening before. And four cups of tea later to keep himself awake, John was still up and waiting. He didn't know why. Sherlock was his flatmate and best friend. He could look out for himself, and John knew that, he just _worried _about the crazy bastard. It didn't help that John was in love with the detective, not that he'd ever admit it. But it was no secret that he was aggressively defensive over Sherlock Holmes. He'd chinned policemen, killed men, and even divorced his wife for Sherlock Holmes. John was convinced there was little that he'd not do for the curly-haired man who'd so easily made his way into John's heart.__

Finally, the door opened, and Sherlock entered, bloody and beaten. "Sherlock!" John shouted, jumping out of his seat. "What the bloody hell happened to you?!" 

"I walked into a door," Sherlock said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Go on, John, make a deduction." 

John sighed. Sherlock's white shirt was covered in blood, his lip too was bloody, and a nasty bruise was already forming around his left eye. "Come on." 

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked him. 

"To the bathroom. You didn't seriously think I was just going to let you go about your business for the rest of the evening -or rather day now- without me patching you up, did you?" Sherlock watched John, almost nervously, it seemed, and John indicated for him to follow. "Come on." 

Once in the bathroom, John directed Sherlock to sit on the edge of the bathtub, before disappearing out of the room once more to go and get his first aid kit. He came back and, putting the lid down on the toilet seat, he placed his belongings onto it, and began to fill up the basin with warm water. "Take off your shirt, please," John said, adopting the professional tone he used with his patients at the surgery. 

The doctor turned around to face Sherlock, and saw the man's hands fumbling. "J-John, I-I can't." 

"And as usual, I have to do everything for you," John said teasingly, offering Sherlock a smile. He was beyond grateful to receive one in return. He knelt down in front of Sherlock, and began to gently undo the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. He was aware that Sherlock was watching him like a hawk. Sherlock was aware this was his first time John had been so tender with him, perhaps because his beating required more delicacy than it usually did. Sherlock's heart fluttered in his chest as he watched the doctor, and wasn't entirely sure if that was because of John or because of his injuries. 

Once helping Sherlock out of his shirt, he left it soaking in the basin. "Is it still salvageable?" Sherlock asked him, nodding towards his shirt. "That was my best shirt." 

John rolled his eyes. Of course the detective would worry about his shirt. "Really? I thought your purple one was your best." 

"You think so?" Sherlock asked, seemingly genuinely curious as to John's response. 

"Absolutely. Well, it's my favourite one anyway." John licked his lips nervously as he wrung out Sherlock's shirt, before dropping it back in the water. 

He turned around to address Sherlock once again, and gasped as he saw the extent of the man's injuries. "Who... the _fuck _did this to you, Sherlock?" He asked through gritted teeth. Sherlock was covered in deep cuts and bruises, and it was a wonder he hadn't passed out from the amount of blood he'd lost. " _Jesus, _is that a knife wound?!"____

John turned back around and emptied out the basin, chucking Sherlock's shirt over the named man's head, into the bathtub behind him. Sherlock cringed as the water from the shirt splashed his face, and he noticed that John was breathing harder than usual, and Sherlock knew that to be in anger. _John is well and truly pissed off, _Sherlock thought to himself. He watched as John began to refill the basin with water, watching as the muscles in his back contracted and retracted as he moved. Sherlock hadn't ever comprehended just how muscular John was until that moment. He wondered what John looked like under those shirts and awful jumpers. He wondered how pronounced his muscles were, and what they'd feel like under his hands.__

John turned back around and took a facecloth from the cupboard below the basin. He dunked it in the warm water, and then moved back to Sherlock. He began to dab at Sherlock's body, and Sherlock winced. "Stay still," John demanded, placing a hand on Sherlock's thigh to keep him steady. Sherlock could feel the warmth of John's hand through the fabric of his trousers. It felt nice, secure. With John touching him, Sherlock felt like he was capable of anything, untouchable to the world outside. He knew that he could come back - as he had that morning - battered and bruised, and John would be up waiting for him, and he would fix Sherlock. He could do it with nothing more than a touch, but he would go the extra mile. He would clean and stitch Sherlock's wounds, and he would get protective over Sherlock in a way that no one else ever had. Sherlock looked at John's hand, resting on his thigh, and felt nothing but love for the man who had treated him so well over the years. 

Absently, Sherlock placed his hand on John's cheek. John looked up from what he was doing, and smiled at Sherlock. "You alright?" He asked Sherlock softly. 

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you, John. For doing this for me. Or rather, for doing it every time. I do appreciate it, even if I never say anything." 

John smiled at him gently. "You want to tell me what happened?" 

Sherlock shrugged, thinking there was nothing to tell. "I raced ahead of New Scotland Yard, got bashed by a serial rapist, eventually got the upper hand, and had him in handcuffs by the time Scotland Yard arrived on the scene." Sherlock smiled widely, revealing his teeth which were covered in blood. 

John threw his head back and groaned. "Oh my god!" 

"What?" Sherlock asked, not knowing John was groaning about. 

"You're just a walking injury, aren't you?" John sounded disbelieving. 

Sherlock shrugged. "Oh, I suppose you're talking about my mouth. Yes, I did start coughing up blood after a few jabs or so were directed at my stomach." 

John sighed. "I should get you to afterhours. I don't have the right equipment here." 

"No!" Sherlock said quickly, placing his hand over John's which still rested on his thigh. "Please, you're doing great with what you've got." 

John shook his head lovingly. "You're a bloody madman, Sherlock Holmes, you really are." 

John stood up, and Sherlock stared after him desperately. "John! Where are you going?!" 

"Relax!" John laughed. "I'm going to get you some water to rinse your mouth out." 

John chuckled to himself as he went into the kitchen. _Since when did Sherlock become so _needy _?, _he thought to himself. Nevertheless he liked it. He liked knowing that Sherlock needed him, and moreover, he liked knowing that Sherlock appreciated him. It was a lovely feeling.____

He went back into the bathroom, where Sherlock sat waiting obediently. Sherlock looked up at John as he came in, and John could've sworn his eyes lit up. _What has gotten into you? _John thought to himself. "Here," he said to Sherlock, holding the glass of water out to him.__

Sherlock took it from his hands, his fingers brushing against John's knuckles as he did so. He put the water in his mouth, and after swishing it around in his mouth a bit, he turned around and spat it out into the bathtub. "Well, that was rather unpleasant," Sherlock said, smiling a bit. "Are we done here?" 

"Unfortunately enough for you, no we're not. I still need to stitch you up." John gathered the required equipment, and Sherlock watched with mild admiration as John set it all up, his long fingers working expertly at the needle he was to use. "Alright," he said once everything was set up. "I need you to stay _entirely _still. Don't make a single move, or I'll not be impressed."__

Sherlock let out a grunt in acknowledgement, and watched as John began to stitch up all the deep cuts. 

"You've a bloody stab-wound, Sherlock," John laughed unbelievingly. 

"Yes, he seemed rather well prepared for a fight, even if he lost it in the end." 

John chuckled and shook his head, stopping to look up at Sherlock. "You're one of a kind, Sherlock. Really, you are." He looked back down and continued with the job at hand, still smiling. Sherlock felt that flutter in his chest again, and couldn't help but grin. 

Once Sherlock was all cleaned up, John helped him to his feet, and helped him into his bedroom. After Sherlock had rid himself of his trousers so he was in only his pants, the good doctor got Sherlock into his bed, and tucked him in. He paused for a moment, and looked at Sherlock. Between hooded eyes, Sherlock could see he was nervous. "What is it?" Sherlock asked, his voice already slurring with sleep. 

"It's just... I don't feel good about leaving you in here alone. I mean, your injuries were pretty serious and you could take a turn for the worst at any stage throughout the night." John shook his head. "I'd hate for something to happen to you because I was careless in my doctoring." 

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. "Climb into bed with me, then." 

"You what?" 

"Get in," Sherlock said again, impatiently. "You can keep an eye on me from in here. Besides, you need sleep. Get in." 

John paused. "Are you serious?" 

"Yes, John. Get in." 

John sighed. "This is madness," he said, sighing as he took off his shirt and trousers so he was only in his undershirt and boxer shorts. 

Sherlock threw the covers back, and waited for John to climb in beside him, before putting the covers back, making sure they covered both men sufficiently. He snuggled into John, wrapping his arm around John's waist, and burying his face into John's neck as though it was the most natural, normal thing for him to do. 

John frowned, noticing something, and wondered whether he should question it or not. He was going to until Sherlock spoke. "Something's wrong," he stated. "What is it? Tell me." 

"Yeah... I... Erm... When exactly did you take your pants off?" John asked. 

Sherlock stiffened beside him. "I... I like to sleep naked. Is that a problem?" 

"No, I... I just didn't realise, that's all." 

"Not even after I showed up at Buckingham Palace in nothing but a sheet?" 

John chuckled at the memory. "No, for some reason I didn't." 

Sherlock chuckled too. "Do you usually wear pyjamas to bed?" 

"You already know the answer to that, you berk." 

Sherlock paused. "Why are you wearing clothes then, if you too, prefer to sleep naked?" 

"Sherlock, I am lying in bed with my best friend and flatmate, who is currently naked, and you think I should get naked too?" 

"Oh," Sherlock said quietly. "I see." 

"I've offended you," John stated. He sighed and turned around to face Sherlock, who gazed at him, his face dimly illuminated by the lights of London which shone through the window. "Do you want me to get naked with you, Sherlock?" He said quietly, trying not to embarrass his friend. 

"Well," Sherlock murmured quietly, "I wouldn't mind it, so to speak." 

"You know," John continued in the same tone, his eyes locked with Sherlock's, hands holding Sherlock in place, "If I get naked with you, that can lead to a wide variety of things, don't you?" 

"I wouldn't mind that either," Sherlock whispered. 

John sighed and rolled his eyes. What was the point in resisting it if Sherlock felt the same? They were adults. And if they wanted to partake in anything in the spur of the moment (though John knew it'd mean so much more than that to him, at least), then why shouldn't they? The doctor sat up, and with a sigh, he pulled off his undershirt, and then pulled off his boxer shorts. All the while, Sherlock watched him with wide, curious eyes. 

"There," John said, looking at Sherlock. "I'm naked. In bed. With you." 

Sherlock reached out from under the covers, but froze as he noticed John looking at him. "Can I... Can I touch you, John?" He asked with a small voice. 

"Of course," John replied. He wasn't exactly sure what was happening, or how everything had changed so fast, but those thoughts melted away as Sherlock began to nervously run his hands over John's body. John noticed that Sherlock was particularly fascinated with the doctor's muscles, running his hands over John's pectorals and abdominal muscles. John lay down and closed his eyes as Sherlock's surprisingly warm hands drifted over his body. 

"You have a lovely body, John," Sherlock said shyly. 

John looked at Sherlock through the dark. "So do you," he replied. 

Sherlock stopped what he was doing and looked down into John's eyes. "John?" 

"Yes?" 

"Would you mind terribly if I kissed you right now?" 

"I wouldn't mind at all," John told him truthfully. 

Sherlock slowly leaned down over John, wincing slightly as he strained his stitches. John watched him, and allowed the taller man to take his time. He knew that Sherlock wasn't really accustomed to affection, the minimal amount had come from Janine, and even then, John knew (from Sherlock's _courteously _constant complaining about the 'traumatic ordeal,' as he had put it), it was all very forced.__

Sherlock leaned over top of John, resting his hands either side of the doctor's head, and slowly pressed his lips against John's. It was soft and warm and sweet, just as the two had always imagined it would be. John gently gripped Sherlock's hips between his hands, still mindful of the man's stitches and such. He tentatively licked at Sherlock's bottom lip, and Sherlock granted him access. John explored the depths of Sherlock's mouth with his tongue, savouring the taste of Sherlock. 

It was hard to believe that only thirty minutes ago, the men were still friends and nothing more, when now they were kissing as though it was a common occurrence. Sherlock pulled away slowly, and smiled down at John shyly. 

John gently switched the two around, so that he was on top of Sherlock. Sherlock looked positively excited by this change. "John, please, I really want you to..." Sherlock let his voice trail off. 

"What do you want, Sweetheart? I'll do anything." 

"I-I want you to make love to me, John," Sherlock mumbled quietly. 

"Are you sure?" John asked, cocking his head to the side. They were both naked anyway, it wasn't like it would take much time to get interesting. 

Sherlock nodded. "Please, John. I've wanted nothing else but this since the day we met. I can never get you off my mind and I just really want to -" 

John placed his finger to Sherlock's mouth, silencing the taller man. "Alright. You'll have to tell me if it starts to hurt though, alright? I want this too, more than you could possibly imagine, but it has to be pleasurable for both of us." 

Sherlock nodded, and John caressed his face before getting off the bed. "John, where are you going?!" Sherlock called to him as John walked, stark naked, out of the room. 

"I'll be back!" John smiled at him. "Trust me." 

Sherlock squirmed on his bed in anticipation as he waited for John to return. He couldn't believe this was happening. In fact, if anyone else heard about it, they'd probably laugh. It all seemed so impossible, how things were working out, and yet it was so Sherlock and John. You had to see it to believe it. The two worked in their own way, and as Sherlock had once said to John, it really was just the two of them against the rest of the world. 

John returned, and in his hands was a bottle of lubricant and a condom. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, and John chuckled. "I always have some on me, just in case." 

Sherlock giggled as John joined him once again in the bed. John got under the covers with Sherlock, and the latter watched him expectantly. "Well?" 

"You're sure you want to do this? I mean, we can wait until you're not completely bashed up, you know." 

"Are you trying to opt out?" Sherlock frowned. 

John rolled his eyes and pressed a hasty kiss against Sherlock's lips. He grabbed Sherlock's hips, and placed his knee between Sherlock's legs, grinding their erections against one another, both of them moaning quietly. John pulled away, though continued rocking his hips against Sherlock's. "Does this answer your question?" 

Sherlock moaned louder. "Yes, it certainly duh-does," he breathed. 

John opened the bottle of lubricant, and began to smear it over his member. "And you're absolutely, positively sure about this, aren't you?" 

"For _fucks sake, _John, I've never been surer about anything in my life!"__

"Alright, fine," John chuckled, looking up at Sherlock while he continued to generously smear lube over himself. "I'm just making sure, like I said." 

John shifted Sherlock around and pushed his legs apart. "I'm just going to prepare you a bit, alright, Sweetheart?" 

" _Sweetheart? _" Sherlock repeated.__

John blushed. "Sorry, I'll stop saying that, if you want." 

"No," Sherlock said quickly, before clearing his throat. "No, I mean, it's fine. It's quite nice actually. Very arousing, actually." 

"I'm glad you like it. I feel the same," John smiled, before moving back to prepare his fingers, smothering three of them in lube. "I'm going to use one finger first, alright? And then as it eases up, I'll add another, then another, and then you should be ready." John made sure to explain everything clearly so Sherlock would know exactly what was going on. He knew it was Sherlock's first time, and John knew how Sherlock's mind worked. He needed to have facts and information to go off of, and the good doctor certainly didn't want Sherlock to be unpleasantly surprised at any stage. 

Sherlock nodded. "Alright," he said as John gently pressed one finger to Sherlock's hole. "I trust you." 

Slowly, John inserted one finger into Sherlock, moaning as it was engulfed by warmth. He held still for a moment, letting Sherlock get used to the sensation, but gently began pulling it in and out once Sherlock gave a nod. "How does that feel, Darling?" John asked him. 

"Guh-good, John. Please keep going." 

John nodded and did as Sherlock requested, and finally, once Sherlock began moaning impatiently, he added a second finger. Again, he waited until Sherlock nodded before he began to move them once more. Every so often, as way of experiment, John would gently brush against Sherlock's prostrate, and Sherlock would let out small whimpers. "Ooh, Sweetheart," John practically cooed, "You're so responsive." 

Sherlock fought hard to remain in control of his mind, but his chest was thudding at the words and tenderness John used with him. John always treated him so well, and Sherlock never imagined (because yes, he _did _imagine making love to John) that John would be so gentle with him, handling him as though he were a beautiful piece of art which could break at first touch. He'd always seen John as more of a rough type. And further, John's loving tone whenever he called Sherlock 'Sweetheart,' made Sherlock want to cry. He felt invaluable, like he was the most gorgeous thing John had ever seen, had ever touched in his life. Sherlock had never felt so wanted in all his life. Unsurprisingly, to John, Sherlock really was the most gorgeous thing he'd ever touched and seen. As far as John was concerned, Sherlock was a work of art who deserved to be worshipped. And that's exactly what John intended to prove.__

"Are you alright, Darling?" John asked, using his free hand to gently caress Sherlock's cheek, revelling at the feel of the man's cheekbone beneath his hand. 

Again, Sherlock nodded, feeling warmth spread all throughout his body. This was like nothing he'd ever felt before in his life. "Yes. Add the third finger, please." 

John obliged him, and noticed it took longer for Sherlock to adapt. Sherlock felt the tears prickle his eyes, and he felt ashamed to have John seeing him with tears in his eyes. "Sh, Angel, you're doing so well," John murmured, leaning down to kiss away a tear which had settled at the corner of Sherlock's Cupid bow lips. "Can I continue, Beautiful? Or do you need another minute?" 

"Keep going please," Sherlock said quietly. 

John moved his fingers slowly, and with his free hand, he slid it down along Sherlock's body, until he got to Sherlock's erect penis. "You're so lovely, Sherlock," he said adoringly, sliding his hand up and down Sherlock's member, keeping in rhythm to the speed of his fingers. He kept this up for about five minutes or so, before Sherlock started to whine impatiently. 

"John, please." 

John chuckled and removed his fingers, causing Sherlock to groan at the loss. "Hang on, Baby," he said, lining his penis up with Sherlock's arse. Slowly, he inserted himself into Sherlock, and as he did with his fingers, he waited for Sherlock to nod with the go ahead. 

He began slowly and gently, all while hitting Sherlock's prostrate each time with a precision that only a doctor could have. He moaned as he moved in and out of Sherlock, and Sherlock groaned twice as loud as John. "Oh, John," Sherlock groaned lowly, grasping at John's thighs with his large hands, directing him at a faster pace. "More, please, _more _."__

John leaned down and kissed Sherlock passionately, feeling Sherlock's warm, sweating body against his own. There was something deliciously intoxicating about Sherlock, and everything that was going on. "Oh, Sweetheart, you feel amazing," John groaned. 

" _Fuck, _John, I love it how you call me that," Sherlock grunted, pushing his hips in to meet John's thrusts.__

"And _I _love it how you're swearing," John said, gently slapping Sherlock's thigh. "You're so sexy, Sherlock. Really, you are."__

Sherlock groaned louder in pleasure, feeling the warmth in his body getting hotter and hotter. He found himself no longer able to produce words, and every word that tried to escape his mouth was lost either to a substitute grunt as John slammed into him relentlessly, or when the man smothered his words with a kiss. Every touch that John pressed against Sherlock's skin set Sherlock's nerves on fire, made him weak with the pleasure. He didn't know it, but John felt the exact same way for Sherlock. 

Everything was magical to John as he forced himself to keep his eyes open. He wanted to watch Sherlock, who was a naked mess beneath him, with his eyes pinched shut in pleasure, his lips slightly parted, producing the most sinfully delicious sounds John had ever heard in his life. Sherlock's fringe clung to his forehead with sweat, and the latter clung to his torso, making it glisten under the light provided by the streetlights. His powerful thighs rested either side of John's body, and every so often, John would look down at Sherlock's long, thick cock, which he was massaging in his hand. Everything was so unexpected, and yet so beautifully orchestrated. 

Meanwhile, in Sherlock's mind, everything was black, except for white writing which travelled around in his mind, the echo of a voice - his own voice, he quickly discovered - was saying one coherent thing. _I love you. _"I love you, John," he began quietly, before he began to chant it.__

John, the good man that he was, could see what Sherlock was thinking, more or less. He knew that that was probably the only sentence the man could form, and as John threw his head back in pleasure, he grinned up towards the ceiling, praising the lord for giving him such a glorious man. 

Sherlock felt his stomach begin to tighten and flutter, and he groaned lowly once again. "Juh-John," he breathed. "I-I'm going to..." He stopped, unable to form a proper sentence. 

"It's alright, Beautiful," John assured him with a gentle tone, leaning down to kiss the detective once again. He kissed his mouth before travelling to the hollow of his ear. In a deep voice, he said: "Let go for me." 

Sherlock came hard in John's hand, crying out the man's name as he went. "Oh, God, oh John," he cried. 

"That's it, Baby, say my name," John laughed breathlessly, reaching his climax not too long after Sherlock. 

After riding out his orgasm, John gently slid out of Sherlock, but continued to lie on top of him. Sherlock noticed the mischievous look in John's eyes. "What are you doing?" He panted. 

"This," John murmured as he leaned down, licking all of Sherlock's semen off of his body. 

Sherlock moaned, tangling his hands in John's hair. " _Fuck, _John, I love you."__

"And I love you too, Sweetheart," John said, sitting up again, pressing a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips. "Wait, I forgot, how are your injuries?" 

Sherlock looked down at himself. "Well, I've not bled to death, so pretty good, I suppose." 

John smiled, kissing Sherlock again until they were both breathless. "I'll fix you every single time, Sherlock," he said earnestly. "I promise." 

"And will you accept that payment each time?" Sherlock asked him, giving John a genuine, cheeky smile. 

"Of course. You can pay me like that each time, if you'd like." 

"And each day in between," Sherlock promised.

_High up above or down below,_  
When you're too in love to let it go,  
But if you never try you'll never know,  
Just what you're worth... 

_Lights will guide you home,_  
And ignite your bones...  
I will try to fix you.  
-Coldplay. __


End file.
